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Full text of "To The Lighthouse"

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him divest himself of all those glories of isolation
and austerity which crowned  him  in  youth  to
cumber himself definitely with fluttering wings
and clucking domesticities.   They gave him some-
thing—William  Bankes  acknowledged   that;   it
would have been pleasant if Cam had stuck a
flower in his coat or clambered over his shoulder,
as over her father's,  to  look  at  a   picture  of
Vesuvius in eruption; but they hud also, his old
friends could not but feel, destroyed something.
What would a stranger think now?   What did this
Lily Briscoe think?   Could one help noticing that
habits grew on him?   eccentricities,  weaknesses
perhaps?   It was astonishing that a man of his
intellect could stoop so low as he did—hut that
was too harsh a phrase—could depend so much
as he did upon people's praise*

" Oh but," said Lily, " think of his work! "
Whenever she " thought of his work " she
always saw clearly before her a targe kitchen
table. It was Andrew's doing. She asked him
what his father's books were about* " Subject and
object and the nature of reality % Andrew had said.
And when she said Heavens, she had no notion
what that meant. " Think of a kitchen table then",
he told her, " when you're not there"*

So she always saw, when she thought of Mr,
Ramsay's work, a scrubbed kitchen table. It